by Rhys Bowen
She bent to pat the earth down firmly.
“Tell me what happened the afternoon that Colleen died,” I said.
She almost lost her balance as she stood up, stepping away from me as if to defend herself. “Who on earth told you about that? I thought it was a family secret. We never mention her anymore.”
“But you were there. You can recount the events.”
“Why would you want to know?”
“Because it might have some connection to your uncle’s death.”
She shook her head vehemently. “That’s absurd. It’s just not possible.”
“Nevertheless, humor me,” I said.
She frowned. “Who are you, exactly? Why are you snooping into our family affairs? Why did my uncle invite you here with us? Do you know something we don’t?” Her face was flushed with anger suddenly.
“Look, I just want to help, that’s all. Don’t you want to know who killed your uncle? My husband is a detective and he always says there are no coincidences in life. If two people were found in the same place at the bottom of a cliff, then maybe the two deaths are linked.”
Eliza shook her head. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. Uncle made us all promise … but Colleen was pushed over the cliff by her twin sister, in a fit of jealousy. Horrible but true. We witnessed it.”
“Did you?” I asked. “Did you actually see one twin push the other over the cliff?”
“I didn’t, but we were all sitting together at tea and other people saw it.”
“Tell me about it,” I said. “You were all sitting on the lawn, in the same area where we had tea yesterday?”
“Not far from there.”
“So you all had a view of the cliffs?”
“I didn’t,” she said. “We were sitting in a circle. I had my back to the ocean.”
“So who exactly saw the deed being done?”
She frowned. “I’m not sure. The first thing we heard was this awful, awful scream. We jumped up and somebody shouted, ‘She pushed her. She pushed Colleen.’
“And we all rushed to the cliff edge. Kathleen was standing there, staring down at her sister’s lifeless body. People grabbed her. ‘What happened? Did you do that to your sister?’ someone demanded. But she just kept staring down as if she didn’t hear them. And I gather she never spoke another word. Her mind must have gone, poor little thing. I like to think her mind went before she did the deed, so that she wasn’t responsible for her actions, because until then she’d been a nice enough little thing.”
“Tell me about her before that.”
“I always felt a little sorry for her,” she said. “Colleen was so pretty and so lovable and so outgoing. Just because Kathleen was shy and hung back, they thought she was stupid. But I always felt she was deep. She observed. She thought things through. And she seemed content to let Colleen have the limelight. That’s why I was so surprised that she deliberately pushed her sister, because one thing seemed certain to me and that was that the twins adored each other. They were more like a unit than like two people. They even spoke in their own funny language, you know. It sounded ridiculous but it made sense to them.”
“Can you remember who saw Kathleen push her sister?”
She frowned, thinking. “All I remember is the scream, then a man’s voice saying, ‘She pushed her,’ and then tables were overturned, there was chaos, and we were all running to the cliff edge.”
“Was the whole family together at tea?”
“I believe so. We usually gathered for tea on warm afternoons. Uncle Brian, Aunt Mary, my mother, Archie. I think my father arrived later. Yes, because he asked, ‘Is the tea still hot?’ I don’t remember Terrence, and I’m not sure about Uncle Pat—but yes, he must have been there because he was first to the cliff after the scream. I believe he was the one who said ‘she pushed her.’ Then Irene came running up from somewhere when we heard the scream.”
“And Sam?”
She paused, then shook her head. “No, Sam was not there and when he finally joined us, I remember that he looked—well, flustered.” She turned to stare at me. “What are you trying to prove? That one of us pushed the child off the cliff? It’s absurd. She was adored. We all loved her. Her death almost broke the family apart. Irene’s never been the same since. Uncle Brian suffered deep melancholy … in fact I believe that was what started his drinking.” She started to move away from me. “No, Mrs. Sullivan. You should leave this alone. Bringing it up to this family would only open old wounds and frankly you are barking up the wrong tree.”
Thirty-one
I set off for New York City in the gray light of dawn. I had slipped out of bed without waking Daniel and dressed in the bathroom. I had mentioned to Mrs. Sullivan the night before that I was going to see if I could arrange transportation to get Daniel back to New York, as I felt he’d recover faster in his own bed. She agreed with this sentiment and promised to take good care of her son until I returned. Sid and Gus had agreed to come over to keep Daniel company if necessary, so I felt he was in good hands.
It was a pretty journey along the coast with wisps of fog clinging to marshes and inlets, flights of wild duck rising into the dawn sky and small fishing boats going out to the ocean to be swallowed into mist. On another occasion I would have enjoyed just watching the scenery go by. but I was wound tighter than a watch spring. I was taking a huge risk, going to New York with no particular destination in mind and with little hope of accomplishing anything. When I thought of the family I had to agree with Eliza. Brian Hannan was more valuable to them alive than dead. Again I toyed with the idea of the outsider. There was still that man at the gate. He had obviously come from New York and seemed to have followed Brian Hannan from there. But if he wanted to see him so badly why not see him before he left for Newport? Was it possible he had been sent to kill Alderman Hannan by someone who wanted him out of the way?
I considered Tammany Hall and that overheard remark that they were relieved Hannan was no longer around to meddle in the election of Charlie. Had Charlie Murphy sent someone to follow Brian Hannan and make sure he never returned to New York? It seemed like a good possibility, but one that I could never hope to prove. That would have to wait for Daniel. He had the influence and the clout to get the truth out of tough Irish political bosses. I would be brushed away like an annoying gnat.
So what did I really hope to achieve in New York? I took out my little notepad and pencil. The alderman’s house, perhaps? Would they know of any family upsets, and more to the point, would they tell me? I could maybe find out from Alderman Hannan’s attorney who would inherit and whether he had recently made a new will. I could find out from his office whether there were any recent problems in his professional or political life. But the more I thought of it, I always came back to the family. There had to have been a good reason that Brian Hannan summoned his entire family to a deserted beach town in the middle of October and just happened to invite a top New York police detective at the same time. He had wanted Daniel to observe something or help him figure out something that weekend, I was sure.
“I think I might have gotten it wrong,” was all I had to go on. No indication what “it” was. But something to do with his family. And it occurred to me that if he’d confided in anyone it would have been to his secretary or attorney. I’d try both of them.
I arrived at the Grand Central Terminal at the same time as thousands of workers and businessmen. After the quiet of Newport the noise and smells of the city were overwhelming and I fought my way through the crowds to the station for the elevated railway. I had decided that my first stop should be at the alderman’s mansion on the Upper East Side, since that was my only destination in that direction. Also I was a little early to visit his office. So I hopped aboard the Third Avenue elevated railway and alighted at Sixty-seventh Street. The alderman’s house was on Sixty-sixth, just across the street from the Astors. He had certainly moved into the realm of the Four Hundred, and judging from the magnificent facade of the white-
trimmed brick mansion, he had made more money than most of them. I adjusted my hat and took a deep breath before I rapped on the front door. The maid who opened it ushered me into a small anteroom where I was joined almost immediately by the butler, Soames. I introduced myself to that very proper English gentleman and explained that I had been the alderman’s guest. I had come to town and suspected that they had heard little about what was going on at the cottage.
“It is most gracious of you to pay us a call, Mrs. Sullivan,” the butler said. “As you can imagine the entire household has been in a state of shock. We could scarcely believe the news when the policeman came to the door. Is it true that the master was murdered? Have they found out who did this awful deed yet?”
“They have not. My husband, who is a New York police captain, would have been able to assist more fully in the investigation, but he is recovering from pneumonia,” I said and decided to stretch the truth a little. “So he sent me down to the city on his behalf, in the hope that either you or the alderman’s office staff could shed any light on the sad business.”
“Me?” Mr. Soames looked perplexed. “In what way does he think I should be able to help you?”
“He wondered if the alderman had received any threats recently.”
“Threats? From whom, Mrs. Sullivan?”
“I don’t know—someone with whom he has crossed swords with in business or politics?”
“I only know what goes on in this establishment, and I think it highly unlikely that anyone would come to threaten him in his own home.” He held my gaze. “Is that what the police think? That an adversary followed him to Newport to kill him? Why not do so here? The alderman often took a walk in the park in the mornings before work. A perfect chance to kill him if one was so inclined.”
“Had he seemed worried recently?”
“I am only his butler, not his confidant,” he replied stiffly.
“Mr. Soames, I know that loyalty to your employer may prevent you from speaking your mind to me, but I’m sure you want his killer found as much as the rest of us do. If there is any small thing you can think of—anything at all in his last days that made you feel the alderman was worried, or upset?”
“He did seem—preoccupied as he prepared to leave. As if he had a lot on his mind.”
“Had he shared with you his reason for summoning the family to Newport at this time of year?”
“My dear Mrs. Sullivan. I am his servant. And he was a man who kept himself very close. But he did say, ‘You are lucky to have grown up in an orphanage, Soames. Families are a pain in the neck.’”
“So some family member had been on his mind. Any idea which one?”
Mr. Soames shook his head.
“Had any of them been to call on him here recently?”
“Not that I can think—oh, but wait. Mr. Archie came by on Thursday last and was annoyed to find that the master had already left for Newport. I asked whether I could take a message and he replied, rather rudely, ‘No you damned well can’t. It’s too late.’ And he stalked off again.”
“Was that sort of behavior unusual for him?”
“Oh, yes, Mrs. Sullivan. Mr. Archie is usually such a well-mannered young man. I was quite shocked, I can tell you.”
I got up to take my leave. “Thank you, you’ve been most helpful and my condolences on the loss of your employer.”
He pressed his lips together, fighting back emotion, before he said, “We in this household thank you for your efforts, Mrs. Sullivan. We pray to God that you find the person responsible. Alderman Hannan will be sadly missed.”
Of course he will, I thought as I walked away. All those people have now lost their livelihood. I made my way back to the El through a carpet of fallen leaves. It was a crisp fall day and I passed well-dressed people, out for their morning constitutional. They nodded politely as we passed and I wondered if any of them were Mr. Archie’s parents. Why had I never considered him before? A young man with usually perfect manners, who had had to endure the tragedy of losing his beloved daughter. What possible reason could he have for murdering the one who financed his pleasant lifestyle? Unless his father-in-law had found out something about him—some guilty secret? A mistress, perhaps? And was threatening to cut off his allowance.
I filed this information in my already cluttered mind and went to see the one person I hoped could actually achieve results in this case—my old friend and alienist Dr. Birnbaum. The Third Avenue El took me down to Ninth Street and I headed for familiar territory. Dr. Birnbaum usually stayed at the Hotel Lafayette, just off Washington Square. I asked for him at the front desk and was told that he had not yet left his room. The clerk indicated it would be most unseemly for a young woman to wish to go up to a gentleman’s room, but consented to take Dr. Birmbaum a message.
He returned instantly and addressed me in a rather more courteous manner, saying that I should wait in the hotel restaurant where the good doctor would join me for a cup of coffee shortly. I was ushered through to a pretty room with checked tablecloths and bright French china. I found that the early rising had given me an appetite and worked my way through several breakfast rolls and a cup of coffee before Dr. Birnbaum appeared. As always he looked dapper, immaculately groomed with his neat little blond beard and mustache. He clicked his heels and bowed in that Germanic way when he saw me.
“Miss Murphy, or should I say Mrs. Sullivan, what a delightful surprise.” He took my hand, then seated himself opposite me. “To what do I owe this early morning call?”
I told him, trying to put everything as clearly as possible. He listened, not looking at me but toying with the crumbs on the table. Only when I had finished did he look up at me.
“A most fascinating case, Mrs. Sullivan. The relationship between twins has always intrigued me. And a separate language…”
“So you will come and see her?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I could only examine her at the request of her parents. She does have parents and a family, doesn’t she?”
“But they haven’t even visited her in years. They believe her to be in an insane asylum. I could take you up to her so that they’d never know.”
He shook his head this time. “Mrs. Sullivan. I am required to follow a strict code of ethics in my profession. Much as I would like to see the young girl, I reiterate that the parents would have to invite me first.”
“If she had been confined to an asylum?”
“Then I could only see her at the invitation of the director of the institution.”
I sighed. “If you saw her, do you think there is anything you could do to help her?”
“I couldn’t say that without observing for myself. From what you tell me the shock of her sister’s death has put her into a catatonic state from which she chooses not to emerge. Maybe I could bring her out of it, maybe not.”
“But do you think it’s likely that she really did kill her sister deliberately, when one of the relatives tells me that they adored each other?”
He smiled, sadly. “Children sometimes do things on impulse, things that they regret later. I remember that my brother killed our puppy because it bit him. He knocked it across the room because his hand was bleeding and he was angry and scared. He hadn’t mean to kill it, however, and wept bitterly. Perhaps one twin said something that annoyed the other, making her react and give the other girl a shove, not realizing how close they were to the clifftops.”
“But do you think it would be possible that she actually did mean her twin to fall to her death?”
“Oh, yes,” he said. “It would be quite feasible. You say the other girl was popular and pretty. She might have had anger building up inside for a long time. Or it might have been an impulse on the spur of the moment, lashing out the way children do. Of course, she regretted it instantly but it was too late.”
“And do you think that was the action of an insane person?”
“Oh, no, quite the opposite. I think that would have been the action of a nor
mal child. I think we have all wanted at times to be the only child, to rid ourselves of annoying siblings. Only this one acted, with devastating consequences.”
“Then let me ask you one more thing,” I said as he sipped his coffee. “Do you think that such a child, a child whose mentality seems to be frozen at the age of four, could also manage to poison and kill her grandfather?”
“To poison? I think that unlikely. Tell me, was the child known to be devious, sneaky?”
“Not that I heard. Shy, sullen; but not sneaky.”
“I have to say that poison requires a degree of sophistication that would probably be beyond a child such as you have described. How would she know where poison was kept? How would she know the correct amount? And you say it was potassium cyanide? My dear Mrs. Sullivan. It was more likely to have killed her when she handled it. Just to inhale it or to get some inadvertently on her fingertips could be fatal.”
I felt a tremendous wave of relief. I had never believed that Kathleen had killed her grandfather, but to hear this confirmation was wonderful. I don’t know why I was fighting so strongly on her behalf, but I have always been a champion of the underdog. The question now was—had she really killed her sister?
Thirty-two
I left Dr. Birnbaum and went straight to Alderman Hannan’s office. It was on Broad Street, near the new Stock Exchange building. I had found that out easily enough by chatting with Mary Flannery who lived not far away on Water Street. I didn’t know the number but it would be easy enough to ask for directions when I got there. Another ride on the El and I alighted at Hanover Square station. Men in tailed coats hurried up and down the steps between the marble pillars of the Stock Exchange building. I walked along Broad Street, examining the brass plates on nearby walls and found that the office was in another new building, a veritable skyscraper all of twelve stories high. And Alderman Hannan’s office was on the twelfth floor. I rode the elevator with some trepidation. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to those things. That creaking, grinding little cage going slowly up a dark shaft inspires in me an unnatural terror and I was breathing hard when the attendant slid open the door for me and said, “Top floor.”